The land among the rocks
Stunning rice fields surrounds
The wind that whistles through the native trees
The smell of cardamom and the old rubber trees.
The natural crevice in the rock
The bubbling pond that is for child play
The dolls pool we called it
The only dampness thirty inches shallow.
The wind is a mysterious force; I call it a “He”.
Curious and filled with wonder in his babyhood,
He is gentle and calm as it mixes the tunes,
with the foliage in the garden of his childhood.
Mischievous and playful in his adolescence,
Turning into somewhat shy but flirty,
In the endless dancing of the evening,
The wine and a lover’s yearning.
‘When the leaves wither, crusty and brown,
They code a special history in them,
The seasons of the day, the secrets of the night,
And the conversations of the wild.’
‘The murmuring of the earth,
As they rest on her wet and raw soil,
The busy bees and the buzzing queens,
The fluttering wings of a firefly.’